P O E M S 






HAXTER 



UlBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



# w t^W'SW w # 

i UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. | 



POEMS. 



otU.d' 



POEMS 



BY 



Celia Thaxter 



L 



'^.::.)limji^> 



NEW YORK 
PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON 

1872 



f5 3""^ 
.A 2= 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 187 j, by 

L. L. Thaxter, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

H. O HOUGHTON' AND COMPANY. 



CONTENTS. 

— *— 

PAGE 

Land-locked 9 

Off Shore . . . 11 

Expectation . .13 

The Wreck of thm Pocahontas .... 16 

A Thanksgiving 22 

The Minute-guns 25 

Seaward 27 

Rock Weeds 29 



The Sandpiper 
Twilight 



32 
34 



The Swallow 36 

A Grateful Heart 39 

The Spaniards' Graves 41 

Watching 43 

In May 46 

A Summer Day 48 



Regret . 
Before Sunrise 



52 
54 



By the Roadside -58 

Sorrow 6i 

November ^ . . . .63 



viii CONTENTS. 

Courage . 64 

Remembrance . 66 

POEMS FOR CHILDREN. 

Inhospitality 69 

The Great White Owl 72 

Yellow-bird . . 76 

Spring . . . .78 

The Burgomaster Gull 80 

Milking . . . . ' 84 



POEMS. 



LAND-LOCKED. 

Black lie the hills, swiftly doth daylight flee, 
And catching gleams of sunset's dying smile, 
Through the dusk land for many a changing mile 

The river runneth softly to the sea. 

O happy river, could I' follow thee ! 

O yearning heart, that never can be still ! 

O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill, 
Longing for level line of solemn sea. 

Have patience, — here are flowers and songs of 
birds, 
Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight, 
_ All summer's glory thine from morn till night. 
And life too full of joy for uttered words. 



lO LAND-LOCKED. 

Neither am I ungrateful : — but I dream 
Deliciously, how twilight falls to-night 
Over the glimmering water, how the light 

Dies blissfully away, until I seem 

To feel the wind sea-scented on my cheek. 
To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail 
And dip of oars, and voices on the gale 

Afar off, calling low; — my name they speak! 

O Earth ! thy summer song of joy may soar 
Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave 
The sad, caressing murmur of the wave 

That breaks in tender music on the shore. 




OFF SHORE. 

Rock, little boat, beneath the quiet sky, 
Only the stars behold us where we lie, — 
Only the stars and yonder brightening moon. 

On the wide sea to-night alone are we ; 
The sweet, bright summer day dies silently, 
Its glowing sunset \vill have faded soon. 

Rock softly, little boat, the while I mark 
The far off gliding sails, distinct and dark, 
Across the west pass steadily and slow. 

But on the eastern waters sad, they change 

And vanish, dream-like, gray, and cold, and strange, 

And no one knoweth whither they may go. 

We care not, we, drifting with wind and tide. 

While glad waves darken upon either side. 

Save where the moon sends silver sparkles down. 



12 OFF SHORE. 

And yonder slender stream of changing light, 
Now white, now crimson, tremulously bright, 
Where dark the light-house stands, with fiery crown. 

Thick falls the dew, soundless on sea and shore : 

It shines on little boat and idle oar, 

Wherever moonbeams touch with tranquil glow. 

The waves are full of whispers wild and sweet j 
They call to me, — incessantly they beat 
Along the boat from stern to curved prow. 

Comes the careering wind, blows back my hair. 
All damp with dew, to kiss me unaware, 
Murmuring '• Thee I love," and passes on. 

Sweet sounds on rocky shores the distant rote \ 
O could we float forever, little boat. 
Under the blissful sky drifting alone ! 



EXPECTATION. 

Throughout the lonely house the whole day long 
The wind-harp's fitful music sinks and swells, — 

A cry of pain, sometimes, or sad and strong. 
Or faint, like broken peals of silver bells. 

Across the little garden comes the breeze, 
Bows all its cups of flame, and brings to me 

Its breath of mignonette and bright sweet peas, 
With drowsy murmurs from the encircling sea. 

In at the open door a crimson drift 

Of fluttering, fading woodbine leaves is blown, 
And through the clambering vine the sunbeams sift, 

And trembling shadows on the floor are thrown. 

I climb the stair, and from the window lean 
Seeking thy sail, O love, that still delays ; 

Longing to catch its gliminer, searching keen 
The jealous distance veiled in tender haze. 



14 EXPECTATION. 

What care I if the pansies purple be, 

Or sweet the wind-harp wails through the slow 
hours ; 
>Or that the lulling music of the sea 

Comes woven with the perfume of the flowers ? 

Thou comest not ! I ponder o'er the leaves, 
The crimson drift behind the open door : 

Soon shall we listen to a wind that grieves, 
Mourning this glad year, dead forevermore. 

And, O my love, shall we on some sad day 

Find joys and hopes low fallen like the leaves, 

Blown by life's chilly autumn wind away 

In withered heaps God's eye alone perceives ? 

Come thou, and save me from my dreary thought ! 

Who dares to question Time, what it may bring ? 
Yet round us lies the radiant summer, fraught 

With beauty : must we dream of suffering ? 

Yea, even so. Through this enchanted land, 
This morning-red of life, we go to meet 

The tempest in the desert, hand in hand. 

Along God's paths of pain, that seek His feet. 



EXPECTA TION. 1 5 

But this one golden moment, — hold it fast ! 

The light grows long : low in the west the sun, 
Clear red and glorious, slowly sinks at last, 

And while I muse, the tranquil day is done. 

The land breeze freshens in thy gleaming sail ! 

Across the singing waves the shadows creep : 
Under the new moon's thread of silver pale, 

With the first star, thou comest o'er the deep ! 




THE WRECK OF THE POCAHONTAS. 

I LIT the lamps in the Hght-house tower, 

For the sun dropped down and the day was dead ; 

They shone like a glorious clustered flower, — 
Ten golden and five red. 

Looking across, where the line of coast 

Stretched darkly, shrinking away from the sea, 

The lights sprang out at its edge, — almost 
They seemed to answer me ! 

O warning lights ! burn bright and clear, 
Hither' the storm comes ! Leagues away 

It moans and thunders low and drear, — 
Burn till the break of day ! 

Good-night ! I called to the gulls that sailed 
Slow past me through the evening sky ; 

And my comrades, answering shrilly, hailed 
Me back with boding cry. 



THE WRECK OF THE POCAHONTAS. 1 7 

A mournful breeze began to blow, 

Weird music it drew through the iron bars, 
The sullen billows boiled below, 
• And dimly peered the stars ; 

The sails that flecked the ocean floor 
From east to west leaned low and fled ; 

They knew what came in the distant roar 
That filled the air with dread ! 

Flung by a fitful gust, there beat 

Against the window a dash of rain : — 

Steady as tramp of marching feet 
Strode on the hurricane. 

It smote the waves for a moment still. 

Level and deadly white for fear ; 
The bare rock shuddered, — an awful thrill 

Shook even my tower of cheer. 

Like all the demons loosed at last. 

Whistling and shrieking, wild and wide, 
The mad- wind raged, while strong and fast 

Rolled in the rising tide. 



\i8 THE WRECK OF THE POCAHONTAS. 

And soon in ponderous showers, the spray, 
Struck from the granite, reared and sprung 

And clutched at tower and cottage gray, 
Where overwhehned they clung 

Half drowning to the naked rock ; 

But still burned on the faithful light, 
Nor faltered at the tempest's shock, 

Through all the fearful night. 

Was it in vain ? That knew not we. 

We seemed, in that confusion vast 
Of rushing wind and roaring sea, 

One point whereon was cast 

The whole Atlantic's weight of brine. 

Heaven help the ship should drift our way J 
•No matter how the light might shine 

Far on into the day. 

When morning dawned, above the din 
Of gale and breaker boomed a gun ! 

Another ! We who sat within 
Answered with cries each one. 



THE WRECK OF THE POCAHONTAS. 19 

Into each other's eyes with fear,. 

We looked through helpless tears, as still, 
One after one, near and more near, 

The signals pealed, until 

The thick storm seemed to break apart 
To show us, staggering to her grave, 

The fated brig. We had no heart 
To look, for naught could save. 

One glimpse of black hull heaving slow, 
Then closed the mists o'er canvas torn 

And tangled ropes swept to and fro 
From masts that raked forlorn. 

Weeks after, yet ringed round with spray, 
Our island lay, and none might land ; 

Though blue the waters of the bay 
Stretched calm on either hand. 

And when at last from the distant shore 

A little boat stole out, to reach 
Our loneliness, and bring once more 

Fresh human thought and speech, 



20 THE WRECK OF THE POCAHONTAS. 

We told our tale, and the boatmen cried : 
" 'Twas the Pocahontas, — all were lost ! 

For miles along the coast the tide 
Her shattered timbers tossed." 

Then I looked the whole horizon round, - 
So beautiful the ocean spread 

About us, o'er those sailors drowned ! 
" Father in heaven," I said, — 

A child's grief struggling in my breast, — 
" Do purposeless thy children meet 

Such bitter death ? How was it best 
These hearts should cease to beat? 



O wlterefore ! Are we naught to Thee ? 

Like senseless weeds that rise and fall 
Upon thine awful sea, are we 

No more then, after all ? " 



And I shut the beauty from my sight, 

For I thought of the dead that lay below ; 

From the bright air faded the warmth and light, 
There came a chill like snow. 



THE WRECK OF THE POCAHONTAS. 21 

Then I heard the far-off rote resound, 

Where the breakers slow and slumberous rolled, 

And a subtile sense of Thought profound 
Touched me with power untold. 

And like a voice eternal spake 

That wondrous rhythm, and, " Peace, be still ! " 
It murmured, "bow thy head and take 

Life's rapture and life's ill, 

And wait. At last all shall be clear." 

The long, low, mellow music rose 
And fell, and soothed my dreaming ear 

With infinite repose. 

Sighing I climbed the light-house stair, 
Half forgetting my grief and pain ; 

And while the day died, sweet and fair, 
I lit the lamps again. 



A THANKSGIVING. 

High on the ledge the wind blows 

the bay-berry bright, 
Turning the leaves, till they shudder 

and shine in the light: 
Yellow St. John's-wort and yarrow 

are nodding their heads, 
Iris and wild-rose are glowing 

in purples and reds. 

Swift flies the schooner careering 

beyond o'er the blue ; 
Faint shows the furrow she leaves as 

the cleaves lightly through ; 
Gay gleams the fluttering flag at 

her delicate mast ; 
Full swell the sails with the wind 

that is following fast. 



A THANKSGIVING. 23 

Quail and sand-pipev and swallow 

and sparrow are here : 
Sweet sound their manifold notes, high 

and low, far and near ; 
Chorus of musical waters, the rush 

of the breeze, 
Steady and strong from the south, — 

that gUd volcis are these ! 

O cup of the wild-rose, curved close to 

hold odorous dew, 
What thought do you hide in your 

heart ? I would that I knew ! 
O beautiful Iris, unfurling your 

purple and gold. 
What victory fling you abroad 

in the flags you unfold ? 

Sweet may your thought be, red rose, 

but still sweeter is mine, 
Close in my heart hidden, clear as 

your-dewdrop divine. 
Flutter your gonfalons. Iris, the 

p3ean I sing, 
Is for victory better than joy or 

than beauty can bring. 



24 • A THANKSGIVING. 

Into thy calm eyes, O Nature, I look 

and rejoice ; 
Prayerful, I add my one note to 

the Infinite voice : 



As shining and singing and sparkling 

glides on the glad day, 
And eastward the swift-rolling planet 

wheels into the gray. 



THE MINUTE-GUNS. 

I STOOD within the little cove, 

Full of the morning's life and hope, 

While heavily the eager waves 

Charged thundering up the rocky slope. 

The splendid breakers ! How they rushed, 
All emerald green and flashing white, 

Tumultuous in the morning sun, 

With cheer and sparkle and delight ! 

And freshly blew the fragrant wind, 
The wild sea wind, across their tops, 

And caught the spray and flung it far 
In sweeping showers of glittering drops. 

Within the cove all flashed and foamed 
With many a fleeting rainbow hue ; 

Without, gleamed bright against the sky, 
A. tender wavering line of blue. 



26 THE MINUTE-GUNS. 

AVliere tossed the distant waves, and far 
Shone silver-white a quiet sail ; 

And overhead the soaring gulls 

With graceful pinions stemmed the gale. 

And all my pulses thrilled with joy, 
Watching the winds' and waters' strife. 

With sudden rapture, — and I cried, 

" O sweet is Life ! Thank God for life ! " 

Sailed any cloud across the sky, 
Marring this glory of the sun's ? 

Over the sea, from distant forts. 

There came the boom of minute-guns ! 

War-tidings ! Many a brave soul fled, 
And many a heart the message stuns ! 

I saw no more the joyous waves, 
I only heard the minute-guns. 



SEAWARD. 
To — ^ . 

How long it seems since that mild April night, 
When, leaning from the window, you and I 

Heard, clearly ringing from the shadowy bight, 
The loon's unearthly cry ! 

Southwest the wind blew, million little waves 
Ran rippling round the point in mellow tune. 

But mournful, like the voice of one who raves, 
That laughter of the loon ! 

We called to him, while blindly through the haze 
Uprose the meagre moon behind us, slow. 

So dim, the fleet of boats we^ scarce could trace, 
Moored lightly just below. 

We called, and lo, he answered ! Half in fear 
We sent the note back. Echoing rock and bay 

Made melancholy mus'c far and near. 
Sadly it died away. 



28 SEA WARD. 

That schooner, you remember ? Flying ghost ! 

Her canvas catching every wandering beam, 
Aerial, noiseless, past the glimmering coast 

She glided like a dream. 

Would we were leaning from your window now, 

Together calling to the eerie loon, 
The fresh wind blowing care from either brow, 

This sumptuous night of June ! 

So many sighs load this sweet inland air, 

'Tis hard to breathe, nor can we find relief, — 

However lightly touched we all must share 
This nobleness of grief. 

But siglis are spent before they reach your ear; 

Vaguely they mingle with the water's rune. 
No sadder sound salutes you than the clear. 

Wild laughter of the loon. 



ROCK WEEDS. 

So bleak these shores, wind-swept and all the year 
Washed by the wild Atlantic's restless tide, 

You would not dream that flowers the woods hold 
dear 
Amid such desolation dare abide. 

Yet when the bitter winter breaks, some day, 
With soft winds fluttering her garments hem, 

Up from the sweet South comes the lingering May, 
Sets the first wind-flower trembling on its stem ; 

Scatters her violets with lavish hands, 

White, blue, and amber ; calls the columbine, 

Till like clear flame in lonely nooks, gay bands 
Swinging their scarlet bells, obey the sign ; 

Makes buttercups and dandelions blaze. 

And throws in glimmering patches here and there 

The little eyebright's pearls, and gently lays 
The impress of her beauty everywhere. 



30 ROCK WEEDS. 

Later, June bids the sweet wild rose to blow, 
Wakes from its dream the drowsy pimpernel ; 

Unfolds the bindweed's ivory buds that glow 
As delicately blushing as a shell. 

Then purple Iris smiles, and hour by hour, 
The fair procession multiplies ; and soon. 

In clusters creamy white, the elder-flower 

Waves its broad disk against the rising moon. 

O'er quiet beaches shelving to the sea 

Tall mulleins sway, and thistles ; all day long 

Flows in the wooing water dreamily, 

With subtile music in its slumberous song. 

Herb-robert hears, and princess'- feather bright, 
And gold-thread clasps the little skull-cap blue ; 

And troops of swallows, gathering for their flight, 
O'er golden-rod and asters hold review. 

The barren island dreams in flowers, while blow 
The south winds, drawing haze o'er sea and 
land ; 
Yet the great heart of ocean, throbbing slow, 

Makes the frail blossoms vibrate where they 
stand : 



ROCK WEEDS. 3 1 

And hints of heavier pulses soon to shake 
Its mighty breast when summer is no more, 

And devastating waves sweep on and break, 
And clasp with girdle white the iron shore. 

Close folded, safe within the sheltering seed, 
Blossom and bell and leafy beauty hide ; 

Nor icy blast, nor bitter spray they heed, 
But patiently their wondrous change abide. 

The heart of God through his creation stirs. 
We thrill to feel it, trembling as the flowers 

That die to live again, — his messengers, 

To keep faith firm in these sad souls of ours. 

The waves of Time may devastate our lives, 
The frosts of age may check our failing breath, - 

They shall not touch the spirit that survives 
Triumphant over doubt and pain and death. 



THE SANDPIPER. 

Across the narrow beach we flit, 

One little sandpiper and I 
And fast I gather, bit by bit, 

The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. 
The wild waves reach their hands for it, 

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
As up and down the beach we flit, — 

One little sandpiper and I. 

Above our heads the sullen clouds 

Scud black and swift across the sky j 
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 

Stand out the white light-houses high. 
Almost as far as eye can reach 

I see the close-reefed vessels fly. 
As fast we flit along the beach,-— 

One little sandpiper and I. 

I watch him as he skims along 

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry. 



THE SANDPIPER. 33 

He starts not at my fitful song, 

Or flash of fluttering drapery. 
He has no thought of any wrong ; 

He scans me with a fearless eye. 
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, 

The little sandpiper and I. 

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night 

When the loosed storm breaks furiously ? 
My driftwood fire will burn so bright ! 

To what warm shelter canst thou fly? 
I do not fear for thee, though wroth 

The tempest rushes through the sky : 
For are we not God's children both, 

Thou, little sandpiper, and 1 1 



TWILIGHT. 

September's slender crescent grows again 
Distinct in yonder peaceful evening red, 
Clearer the stars are sparkling overhead, 

And all the sky is pure, without a stain. 

Cool blows the evening wind from out the West 
And bows the flowers, the last sweet flowers that 

bloom, 
Pale asters, many a 'heavy-waving plume 

Of golden-rod that bends as if opprest. 

The summer's songs are hushed. Up the lone shore 
The weary waves wash sadly, and a grief 
Sounds in the wind, like farewells fond and brief: 

The cricket's chirp but makes the silence more. 

Life's autumn comes ; the leaves begin to fall ; 
The moods of spring and summer pass away 3 
The glory and the rapture, day by day, 

Depart, and soon the quiet grave folds all. 



TWILIGHT. 35 

O thoughtful sky, how many eyes in vain 
Are lifted to your beauty, full of tears ! 
How many hearts go back through all the years, 

Heavy with loss, eager with questioning pain, 

To read the dim Hereafter, to obtain 

One glimpse beyond the earthly curtain, where 
Their dearest dwell, where they may be or e'er 

September's slender crescent shines again ! 




THE SWALLOW. 

The swallow twitters about the eaves; 

Blithely she sings, and sweet and clear ; 
Around her climb the woodbine leaves 

In a golden atmosphere. 

The summer wind sways leaf and spray, 
That catch and cling to the cool gray wall j 

The bright sea stretches miles away, 
And the noon sun shines o'er all. 

In the chamber's shadow, quietly, 

I stand and worship the sky and the leaves, 
The golden air and the brilliant sea. 

The swallow at the eaves. 

Like a living jewel she sits and sings ; 

Fain would I read her riddle aright. 
Fain would I know whence her rapture springs. 

So strong in a thing so slight! 



THE SWALLOW, 37 

The fine, clear fire of joy that steals 
Through all my spirit at what I see 

In the glimpse my window's space reveals, — 
That seems no mystery ! 



But scarce for her joy can she utter her song ; 

Yet she knows not the beauty of skies or seas. 
Is it bliss of living, so sweet and strong ? 

Is it love, which is more than these ? 

O happy creature ! what stirs thee so ? 

A spark of the gladness of God thou art. 
Why should we seek to find and to know 

The secret of thy heart ? 

Before the gates of his mystery 

Trembling we knock with an eager hand j 
Silent behind them waiteth He ; 

Not yet may we understand. 

But thrilling throughout the universe 
Throbs the pulse of his mighty will, 

Till we gain the knowledge of joy or curse 
In the choice of good or ill. 



38 THE SWALLOW. 

He looks from the eyes of the Httle child. 

And searches souls with their gaze so clear; 
To the heart some agony makes wild 

He whispers, "I am here." 



He smiles in the face of every flower ; 

In the swallow's twitter of sweet content 
He speaks, and we follow through every hour 

The way his deep thought went. 

Here should be courage and hope and faith ; 

Nought has escaped the trace of his hand ; 
And a voice in the heart of his silence saith, 

One day we shall understand. 



»f^ 



A GRATEFUL HEART. 

Last night I stole away alone, to find 
A mellow crescent setting o'er the sea, 
And lingered in its light, while over me 

Blew fitfully the grieving autumn wind. 

And somewhat sadly to myself I said, 

" Summer is gone," and watched how bright and 

fast 
Through the moon's track the little waves sped 
past, — 
" Summer is gone ! her golden days are dead." 

Regretfully I thought, " Since I have trod 
Earth's ways with willing or reluctant feet. 
Never did season bring me days more sweet, 

Crowned with rare joys and priceless gifts from God. 

" And they are gone : they will return no more." 
The slender moon went down, all red and still : 
The stars shone clear, the silent dews fell chill ; 

The waves with ceaseless murmur washed the shore. 



40 A GRATEFUL. HEART. 

A low voice spake : " And wherefore art thou sad ? 
Here in thy heart all summer folded lies, 
And smiles in sunshine though the sweet time 
dies : 

'Tis thine to keep forever fresh and glad ! " 

Yea, gentle voice, though the fair days depart, 
And skies grow cold above the restless sea, 
God's gifts are measureless, and there shall be 

Eternal summer in the grateful heart. 




THE SPANIARDS' GRAVES 

AT THE ISLES OF SHOALS. 

O Sailors, did sweet eyes look after you 
The day you sailed away from sunny Spain ? 

Bright eyes that followed fading ship and crew, 
Melting in tender rain ? 

Did no one dream of that drear night to be, 

Wild with the wind, fierce with the stinging snow, 

When on yon granite point that frets the sea. 
The ship met her death-blow ? 

Fifty long years ago these sailors died : 

(None know how many sleep beneath the waves :) 
Fourteen gray head-stones, rising side by side. 

Point out their nameless graves, — 

Lonely, unknown, deserted, but for me, 

And the wild birds that flit with mournful cry, 

And sadder winds, and voices of the sea 
That moans perpetually. 



42 THE SPANIARDS' GRAVES. 

Wives, mothers, maidens, wistfully, in vain 
Questioned the distance for the yearning sail, 

That, leaning landward, should have stretched again 
White arms wide on the gale, 

To bring back their beloved. Year by year. 

Weary they watched, till youth and beauty passed, 

And lustrous eyes grew dim and age grew near, 
And hope was dead at last. 

Still summer broods o'er that delicious land, 
Rich, fragrant, warm with skies of golden glow: 

Live any yet of that forsaken band 
Who loved so long ago ? 

O Spanish women, over the far seas. 

Could I but show you where your dead repose . 
Could I send tidings on this northern breeze 

That strong and steady blows ! 

Dear dark-eyed sisters, you remember yet 

These you have lost, but you can never know 

One stands at their bleak graves whose eyes are wet 
With thinking of your woe ! 



WATCHING. 

In childhood's season fair, 
On many a bahny, moonless summer night, 
While wheeled the light-house arms of dark and 
bright 

Far through the humid air ; 

How patient have I been, 
Sitting, alone, a happy little maid, 
Waiting to see, careless and unafraid, 

My father's boat come in ; 

Close to the water's edge 
Holding a tiny spark, that he might steer 
(So dangerous the landing, far and near,) 

Safe past the ragged ledge. 

I had no fears, — not one ; 
The wild wide waste of water leagues around 
Washed ceaselessly ; there was no human sound, 

And I was all alone. 



44 ^A TCHING. 

But Nature was so kind ! 
Like a dear friend I loved the loneliness ; 
My heart rose glad as at some sweet caress 

When passed the wandering wind. 

Yet it was joy to hear 
From out the darkness, sounds grow clear at 

last, 
Of rattling rowlock, and of creaking mast, 

And voices drawing near ! 

'''Is't thou, dear father ? Say ! " 
What well known shout resounded in reply, 
As loomed the tall sail, smitten suddenly 

With the great light-house ray! 

I will be patient now. 
Dear Heavenly Father, waiting here for thee: 
I know the darkness holds thee. Shall I be 

Afraid, when it is Thou "i 

On thy eternal shore, 
In pauses, when life's tide is at its prime, 
I hear the everlasting rote of Time 

Beatins: for evermore.' 



WATCHING. 



45 



Shall I not then rejoice ? 
O never lost or sad should child of thine 
Sit waiting, fearing lest there come no sign, 

No whisper of thy voice ! 




IN MAY. 

That was a curlew calling overhead^ 

That fine, clear whistle shaken from the clouds : 
See ! hovering o'er the swamp with wings outspread, 

He sinks where at its edge in shining crowds 
The yellow violets dance a^ they unfold, 
In the blithe spring wind, all their green and gold. 

Blithe South-wind, spreading bloom upon the sea, 
Drawing about the world this band of haze 

So softly delicate, and bringing me 

A touch of balm that like a blessing stays ; 

Though beauty like a dream bathes sea and land, 

For the first time Death holds me by the hand. 

Yet none the less the swallows weave above 
Through the bright air a web of light and song, 

And calling clear and sweet from cove to cove, 
The sandpiper, the lonely rocks among, 

Makes wistful music, and the singing sea 

Sends its strong chorus upward solemnly. 



IN MA Y. 47 

Mother Nature, infinitely dear ! 
Vainly I search the beauty of thy face, 

Vainly thy myriad voices charm my ear, 

I cannot gather from thee any trace 
Of God's intent. Help me to understand 
Why, this sweet morn. Death holds me by the hand. 

1 watch the waves, shoulder to shoulder set, 
That strive and vanish and are seen no more. 

The earth is sown with graves that we forget, 
And races of mankind the wide world o'er 
Rise, strive, and vanish, leaving nought behind, 
Like changing waves swept by the changing wind. 

" Hard-hearted, cold, and blind,*' she answers me, 
" Vexing thy soul with riddles hard to guess ! 

No waste of any atom canst thou see. 
Nor make I any gesture purposeless. 

Lift thy dim eyes up to the conscious sky ! 

God meant that rapture in the curlew's cry. 

" He holds his whirling worlds in check ; not one 
May from its awful orbit swerve aside ; 

Yet breathes He in this south wind, bids the sun 
Wake the fair flowers He fashioned, far and wide, 

And this strong pain thou canst not understand 

Ls but his grasp on thy reluctant hand." 



A SUMMER DAY. 

At day-break in the fresh light, joyfully 
The fishermen drew in their laden net ; 

The shore shone rosy purple and the sea 
Was streaked with violet ; 

And pink with sunrise, many a shadowy sail 
Lay southward, lighting up the sleeping bay ; 

And in the west the white moon, still and pale, 
Faded before the day. 

Silence was everywhere. The rising tide 
Slowly filled every cove and inlet small; 

A musical low whisper, multiplied, 
You heard, and that was all. 

No clouds at dawn, but as the sun climbed higher, 
White columns, thunderous, splendid, up the sky 

Floated and stood, heaped in his steady fire, 
A stately company. 



A SUMMER DAY. 49 

Stealing along the coast from cape to cape 
The weird mirage crept tremulously on, 

In many a magic change and wondrous shape, 
Throbbing beneath the sun. 

At noon the wind rose, swept the glassy sea 
To sudden ripple, thrust against the clouds 

A strenuous shoulder, gathering steadily 
Drove them before in crowds ; 

Till all the west was dark, and inky black 

The level-ruffled water underneath, 
And up the wind cloud tossed, — a ghostly rack, 

In many a ragged wreath. 

Then sudden roared the thunder, a great peal 
Magnificent, that broke and rolled away ; 

And down the wind plunged, like a furious keel,, 
Cleaving the sea to spray ; 

And brought the rain sweeping o'er land and sea. 

And then was tumult ! Lightning sharp and keen, 
Thunder, wind, rain, — a mighty jubilee 

The heaven and earth between ! 
4 



50 A SUMMER DAY. 

Loud the roused ocean sang, a chorus grand ; 

A solemn music rolled in undertone 
Of waves that broke about on either hand 

The little island lone ; 

Where, joyful in His tempest as His calm, 
Held in the hollow of that hand of His, 

I joined with heart and soul in God's great psalm, 
Thrilled with a nameless bliss. 

Soon lulled the wind, the summer storm soon died ; 

The shattered clouds went eastward, drifting slow ; 
From the low sun the rain-fringe swept aside, 

Bright in his rosy glow. 

And wide a splendor streamed through all the sky ; 

O'er sea and land one soft, delicious blush. 
That touched the gray rocks lightly, tenderly ; 

A transitory flush. 

Warm, odorous gusts blew off the distant land. 
With spice of pine- woods, breath of hay new-mown, 

O'er miles of waves and sea scents cool and bland. 
Full in our faces blown. 



A SUMMER DAY. SI 

Slow faded the sweet light, and peacefully 
The quiet stars came out, one after one : 

The holy twilight fell upon the sea, 
The summer day was done. 

Such unalloyed delight its hours had given, 
Musing, this thought rose in my grateful mind, 

That God, who watches all things, up in heaven, 
With patient eyes and kind, 

Saw and was pleased, perhaps, one child of his 
Dared to be happy like the little birds, 

Because He gave his children days like this 
Rejoicing beyond words ; 

Dared, lifting up to Him untroubled 'eyes 
In gratitude that worship is, and prayer, 

Sing and be glad with ever new surprise, 
He made his world so fair ! 



REGRET. 

Softly Death touched her, and she passed away 
Out of this glad, bright world she made more fair 

Sweet as the apple-blossoms, when in May 
The orchards flush, of summer grown aware. 

All that fresh, delicate beauty gone from sight, 
That gentle, gracious presence felt no more ! 

How must the house be emptied of delight, 

What shadows on the threshold she passed o'er ! 

She loved me. Surely I was grateful, yet 
I could not give her back all she gave me. 

Ever I think of it with vague regret, 
Musing upon a summer by the sea : 

Remembering troops of merry girls who pressed 
About me — clinging arms and tender eyes. 

And love, like scent of roses. With the rest 
She came, to fill my heart with new surprise. 



REGRET. 53 

The day I left them all, and sailed away, 

While o'er the calm sea, 'neath the soft gray sky 

They waved farewell, she followed me, to say 
Yet once again her wistful, sweet "good-bye." 

At the boat's bow she drooped ; her light-green dress- 
Swept o'er the skiff in many a graceful fold. 

Her glowing face, bright with a mute caress, 
Crowned with her lovely hair of shadowy gold : 

And tears she dropped into the crystal brine 
For me, unworthy — as we slowly swung 

Free of the mooring. Her last look w^as mine, 
Seeking me still the motley crowd among. 

O tender memory of the dead I hold 

So precious through the fret and change of years ! 
Were I to live till Time itself grew old. 

The sad sea would be sadder for those tears. 



BEFORE SUNRISE. 

This grassy gorge, as daylight failed last night, 
I traversed toward the west, where, thin and young, 

Bent like Diana's bow and silver bright, 
Half lost in rosy haze, a crescent hung. 

I paused upon the beach's upper edge : 
The violet east all shadowy lay behind ; 

Southward the light-house glittered o'er the ledge, 
And lightly, softly blew the western wind. 

And at my feet, between the turf and stone, 
Wild roses, bayberry, purple thisdes tall. 

And pink herb-robertgrew, where shells were strown, 
And morning glory vines climbed over all. 

I stooped the closely folded buds to note, 
That gleamed in the dim light mysteriously, 

While full of whispers of the far off rote. 
Summer's enchanted dusk crept o'er the sea. 



BEFORE SUNRISE. 55 

And sights and sounds and sea-scents delicate, 
So wrought upon my soul with sense of bliss, 

Happy I sat as if at heaven's gate, 

Asking on earth no greater joy than this. 

And now, at dawn, upon the beach again, 
Kneeling I wait the coming of the sun, 

Watching the looser-folded buds, and fain 
To see the marvel of their day begun. 

All the world lies so dewy-fresh and still ! 

Whispers so gently all the water wide. 
Hardly it breaks the silence : from the hill 

Come clear bird-voices mingling with the tide. 

Sunset or dawn : which is the lovelier ? Lo ! 

My darlings, sung to all the balmy night 
By summer waves and softest winds that blow, 

Begin to feel the thrilling of the light ! 

Red lips of roses waiting to be kissed 

By early sunshine, soon in smiles will break. 

^ut O, ye morning-glories, that keep tryst 
With the first ray of day-break, ye awake ! 



56 BEFORE SUNRISE. 

O bells of triumph, ringing noiseless peals 

Of unimagined music to the day ! 
Almost I could believe each blossom feels 

The same delight that sweeps my soul away. 

O bells of triumph ! delicate trumpets, thrown 
Heavenward and earthward, turned east, west, 
north, south, 
In lavish beauty, who through you has blown 

This sweet cheer of the morning with calm 
mouth ? 

'Tis God who breathes the triumph ; He who 
wrought 

The tender curves, and laid the tints divine 
Along the lovely lines ; the Eternal Thought 

That troubles all our lives with wise design. 

Yea, out of pain and death his beauty springs, 
And out of doubt a deathless confidence : 

Though we are shod with leaden cares, our wings 
Shall lift us yet out of our deep suspense ! 

Thou great Creator ! Pardon us who reach 
For other heaven beyond this world of thine. 



BEFORE SUNRISE. 57 

This matchless world, where thy least touch doth 
teach 
Thy solemn lessons clearly, line on line. 

And help us to be grateful, we who live 
Such sordid, fretful lives of discontent, 

Nor see the sunshine nor the flower, nor strive 
To find the love thy bitter chastening meant. . 




BY THE ROADSIDE. 

Dropped the warm rain from the brooding sky 

Softly all the summer afternoon ; 
Up the road I loitered carelessly, 

Glad to be alive in blissful June. 

Though so gray the sky, and though the mist 
Swept the hills and half their beauty hid ; 

Though the scattering drops the broad leaves 
kissed. 
And no ray betwixt the vapor slid, 

Yet the daisies tossed their white and gold 

In the quiet fields on either side, 
And the green gloom deepened in the old 

Walnut trees that flung their branches wide ; 

And the placid river wound away 

Westward to the hills through meadows fair, 

Flower-fringed and starred, while blithe and gay 
Called the blackbirds through the balmy air. 



BV THE ROADSIDE. 59 

Right and left I scanned the landscape round, 
Every shape, and scent, and wild bird's call, 

Every color, curve, and gentle sound, 
Deep into my heart I gathered all. 

Up I looked, and down upon the sod 

Sprinkled thick with violets blue and bright ; 

" Surely, ' Through his garden walketh God,' " 
Low I whispered^ full of my delight. 

Like a vision, on the path before. 

Came a little rosy, sun-browned maid, 

Straying toward me from her cottage door, 
Paused, up-looking shyly, half afraid. 

Never word she spake, but gazing so, 

Slow a smile rose to her clear brown eyes. 

Overflowed her face with such a glow 

That I thrilled with sudden, sweet surprise. 

Here was sunshine 'neath the cloudy skies ! 

Low I knelt to bring her face to mine : 
Sweeter, brighter grew her shining eyes. 

Yet she gave me neither word nor sign. 



6o BY THE ROADSIDE. 

But within her look a blessing beamed : 
Meek I grew before it : was it j ust ? 

Was I worthy this pure light that streamed? 
Such approval, and such love and trust ! 

Half the flowers I carried in my hands, 
Lightly in her pretty arms I laid : 

Silent, but as one who understands. 

Clasped them close the rosy little maid. 

Fair behind the honeysuckle spray 
Shone her innocent, delightful face ! 

Then I rose and slowly went my way. 
Left her standing, lighting all the place. 

While her golden look stole after me, 

Lovelier bloomed the violets where I trod: 
. More divine earth's beauty seemed to be, 
" Through his garden visibly walked God." 



SORROW. 

Upon my lips she laid her touch divine, 

And merry speech and careless laughter died ; 

She fixed her melancholy eyes on mine, 
And would not be denied. 

I saw the west-wind loose his cloudlets white 
In flocks, careering through the April sky, 

I could not sing though joy was at its height, 
For she stood silent by. 

I watched the lovely evening fade away ; 

A mist was lightly drawn across the stars ; 
She broke my quiet dream, I heard her say, 

" Behold your prison bars ! 

" Earth's gladness shall not satisfy your soul. 
This beauty of the world in which you live. 

The crowning grace that sanctifies the whole, 
That, I alone can give." 



62 SORROW. 

I heard and shrank away from her afraid ; 

But still she held me and would still abide ; 
Youth's bounding pulses slackened and obeyed, 

With slowly ebbing tide. 

" Look thou beyond the evening star," she said, 
" Beyond the changing splendors of the day ; 

Accept the pain, the weariness, the dread, 
Accept and bid me stay ! " 

I turned and clasped her close with sudden strength, 
And slowly, sweetly, I became aware 

Within my arms God's angel stood at length. 
White-robed and calm and fair. 

And now I look beyond the evening star, 
Beyond the changing splendors of the day. 

Knowing the pain He sends more precious far, 
More beautiful, than they. 



NOVEMBER. 

There is no wind at all to-night 

To dash the drops against the pane ; 

No sound abroad, nor any light, 
And sadly falls the autumn rain; 

There is no color in the world, 
No lovely tint on hill or plain ; 

The summer's golden sails are furled, 
And sadly falls the autumn rain. 

The Earth lies tacitly beneath, 
As it were dead to joy or pain : 

It does not move, it does not breathe, — 
And sadly falls the autumn rain. 

And all my heart is patient too, 
I wait till it shall wake again ; 

The songs of spring shall sound anew, 
Though sadly falls the autumn rain. 



COURAGE. 

Because I hold it sinful to despond, 

And will not let the bitterness of life 
Blind nie with burning tears, but look beyond 

Its tumult and its strife ; 

Because I lift my head above the mist, 

Where the sun shines and the broad breezes blow, 
By every ray and every rain-drop kissed 

That God's love doth bestow ; 

Think you I find no bitterness at all ? 

No burden to be borne, like Christian's pack ? 
Think you there are no ready tears to fall 

Because I keep them back ? • 

Why should I hug life's ills with cold reserve, 
To curse myself and all who love me? Nay ! 

A thousand times more good than I deserve 
God gives me every day. 



COURAGE. 



65 



And in each one of these rebellious tears 

Kept bravely back, He makes a rainbow shine ; 

Grateful I take his slightest gift, no fears 
Nor any doubts are mine. 

Dark skies must clear, and when the clouds are past, 
One golden day redeems a weary year ; 

Patient I listen, sure that sweet at last 
Will sound his voice of cheer. 



Then vex me not with chiding. Let me be. 

I must be glad and grateful to the end. 
I grudge you not your cold and darkness, — me 

The powers of light befriend. 



REMEMBRANCE. 

Fragrant and soft the summer wind doth blow. 
Weary I He, with heavy, half-shut eyes, 
And watch, while wistful thoughts within me rise, 

The curtain idly swaying to and fro. 

There comes a sound of household toil from far, 
A woven murmur ; voices shrill and sweet, 
Clapping of doors, and restless moving feet, 

And tokens faint of fret, and noise, and jar. 

Without, the broad Earth shimmers in the glare, 
Through the clear noon high rides the blazing sun, 
The birds are hushed ; the cricket's chirp alone 

With tremulous music clea.ves the drowsy air. 

I think, — '' Past the gray rocks the wavelets run ; 
The gold-brown sea-weed drapes the ragged ledge, 
And brooding, silent, at the water's edge 

The white gull sitteth, shining in the sun." 



POEMS FOR CHILDREN. 



INHOSPITALITY. 

Down on the north wind sweeping 
Comes the storm with roaring din ; 

Sadly, with dreary tumult, 
The twilight gathers in. 

The snow-covered little island 
Is white as a frosted cake ; 

And round and round it the billows 
Bellow, and thunder, and break. 

Within doors the* blazing drift-wood 
Is glowing, ruddy and warm, 

And happiness sits at the fire-side, 
Watching the raging storm. 

What fluttered past the window. 
All weary and wet and weak. 

With the heavily drooping pinions. 
And the wicked, crooked beak ? 



70 INHOSPITALITY. 

Where the boats before the house-door 

Are drawn up from the tide, 
On the tallest prow he settles, 

And furls his wings so wide. 

Uprises the elder brother, 

Uprises the sister too ; 
" Nay, brother, he comes for shelter ! 

Spare him ! What would you do ? " 

He laughs and is gone for his rifle. 

And steadily takes his aim : 
But the wild wind seizes his yellow beard, 

And blows it about like flame. 

Into his eyes the snow sifts. 

Till he cannot see aright : 
Ah, the cruel gun is baffled ! 

And the weary hawk takes flight ; 

And slowly up he circles. 

Higher and higher still ; 
The fierce wind catches and bears him away 

O'er the bleak crest of the hill. 



INHOSPITALITY. 7 1 

Cries the little sister, watching, 

" Whither now can he flee ? 
Black through the whirling snow-flakes 

Glooms the awful face of the sea, 

" And tossed and torn by the tempest, 
He must sink in the bitter brine ! 
Why couldn't we pity and save him 
Till the sun again should shine ? " 

They drew her lt)ack to the fireside 
And laughed at her cloudy eyes, — 
" What, mourn for that robber-fellow, 
The cruellest bird that flies ! 

" Your song-sparrow hardly would thank you, 
And which is the dearest, pray ? " 
But she heard at the doors and windows 
The lashing of the spray ; 

And as ever the shock of the breakers 

The heart of their quiet stirred, 
She thought, " O would we had sheltered him, 

The poor, unhappy bird ! " 



THE GREAT WHITE OWL. 

He sat aloft on the rocky height, 

Snow-white above the snow, 
In the winter morning cahn and bright, 

And I gazed at him, below. 

He faced the east, where the sunshine streamed 

On the singing, sparkling sea, 
And he blinked with his yellow eyes, that seemed 

All sightless and blank to be. 

The snow-birds swept in a whirling crowd 

About him gleefully, 
And piped and whistled sweet and loud, 

But never a plume stirred he. 

Singing they passed and away they flfew 
Through the brilliant atmosphere ; 

Cloud-like he sat, with the living blue 
Of the sky behind him, clear. 



THE GREAT WHITE OWL. 73 

" Give you good-morrow, friend," I cried. 
He wheeled his large round head, 
Solemn and stately, from side to side, 
But never a word he said. 

" O lonely creature, weird and white, 
Why are you sitting there. 
Like a glimmering ghost from the still m'dnight. 
In the beautiful morning air t " 

He spurned the rock with his talons strong, 

No human speech brooked he ; 
Like a snow-flake huge he sped along 

Swiftly and noiselessly. 

His wide, slow-waving wings so w^hite. 

Heavy and soft did seem ; 
Yet rapid as a dream his flight, 

And silent as a dream. 

And when a distant crag he gained, 

Bright-twinkling like a star, 
He shook his shining plumes, and deigned 

To watch me from afar. 



74 THE GREAT WHITE OWL. 

And once again, when the evening-red 

Surned dimly in the west, 
I saw him motionless, his head 

Bent forward on his breast. 

Dark and still, 'gainst the sunset sky- 
Stood out his figure lone ; 

Crowning the bleak rock far and high, 
By sad winds overblown. 

Did he dream of the ice-fields, stark and drear ? 

Of his haunts on the Arctic -shore ? 
Or the downy brood in his nest last year 

On the coast of Labrador ? 

Had he fluttered the Esquimaux huts among ? 

How I wished he could speak to me ! 
Had he sailed on the icebergs, rainbow-hung. 

In the open Polar Sea? 

O many a tale he might have told 

Of marvelous sounds and sights, 
Where the world lies hopeless and dumb with cold, 

Tlirough desolate days and nights. 



THE GREAT WHITE OWL. 



75 



But with folded wings, while the darkness fell, 

He sat, nor spake, nor stirred ; 
And. charmed as if by a subtile spell, 

I mused on the wondrous Bird. 




YELLOW-BIRD. 

Yellow-bird, where did you learn that song, 

Perched on the trellis where grape-vines clamber, 

In and out fluttering, all day long, 

With your golden breast bedropped with amber? 

^Vhere do you hide such a store of delight, 
O delicate creature, tiny and slender, 

Like a mellow morning sunbeam bright 
And overflowing with music tender ! 

You never learned it at all, the song 

Springs from your heart in rich completeness, 

Beautiful, blissful, clear and strong. 

Steeped in the summer's ripest sweetness. 

•To think we are neighbors of yours ! How fine ! 

O what a pleasure to watch you together, 
Bringing your fern-down and floss to re-line 
The nest worn thin by the winter weather ! 



YELLOW-BIRD. 



77 



Send up your full notes like worshipful prayers ; 

Yellow-bird, sing while the summer 's before you ; 
Little you dream that, in spite of their cares, 

Here 's a whole family, proud to adore you ! 




SPRING. 

The alder by the river 

Shakes out her powdery curls ; 
The willow buds in silver 

For little boys and girls. 

The little birds fly over, 

And O, how sweet they sing! 

To tell the happy children 
That once again 'tis spring, 

The gay green grass comes creeping 
So soft beneath their feet ; 

The frogs begin to ripple 
A music clear and sweet. 

And buttercups are coming, 

And scarlet columbine, 
And in the sunny meadows 

The dandelions shine. 



•SPRING. 

And just as many daisies 
As their soft hands can hold 

The little ones may gather, 
All fair in white and gold. 



79 



Here blows the warm red clover, 
There peeps the violet blue ; 

O happy little children ! 
God made them all for you. 



THE BURGOMASTER GULL. 

The old-wives sit on the heaving brine, 

White-breasted in the sun, 
Preening and smoothing their feathers fine, 

And scolding, every one. 

The snowy kittiwakes overhead, 

With beautiful beaks of gold. 
And wings of delicate gray outspread, 

Float, listening while they scold. 

And a foolish guillemot, swimming by, 
Though heavy and clumsy and dull. 

Joins in with a will when he hears their cry 
'Gainst the Burgomaster Gull. 

For every sea-bird, fixr and near, 
With an atom of brains in its skull, 

Knows plenty of reasons for hate and fear 
Of the Burgomaster Gull. 



THE BURGOMASTER GULL. 8 1 

The black ducks gather, with pluQies so rich, 

And the coots in twinkling lines ; 
And the swift and slender water-witch. 

Whose neck like silver shines ; 

Big eider-ducks, with their caps pale green 

And their salmon-colored vests ; 
And gay mergansers sailing between, 

With their long and glittering crests. 

But the loon aloof on the outer edge 

Of the noisy meeting keeps, 
And laughs to watch them behind the ledge 

Where the lazy breaker sweeps. 

They scream and wheel, and dive and fret, 

And flutter in the foam ; 
And fish and mussels blue they get 

To feed their young at home : 

Till hurrying in, the little auk 

Brings tidings that benumbs, 
And stops at once their clamorous talk, — 

" The Burgomaster comes ! " 



82 THE BURGOMASTER CULL. 

And up he sails,^ a splendid sight ! 

With " wings like banners " wide, 
And eager eyes both big and bright, 

That peer on every side. 

A lovely kittiwake flying past 

With a slippery pollock fine, — 
Quoth the Burgomaster, " Not so fast. 

My beauty ! This is mine ! " 

His strong wing strikes with a dizzying shock ; 

Poor kittiwake, shrieking, flees ; 
His booty he takes to the nearest rock, 

To eat it at his ease. 

The scared birds scatter to left and right, 
But the bold buccaneer, in his glee. 

Cares little enough for their woe and their fright, - 
" 'Twill be your turn next ! " cries he. 

He sees not, hidden behind the rock. 
In the sea-weed, a small boat's hull. 

Nor dreams he the gunners have spared the flock 
For the Burgomaster Gull. 



THE BURGOMASTER GULL. 83 

So proudly his dusky wings are spread, 
And he launches out on the breeze, — 

When lo ! what thunder of wrath and dread ! 
What deadly pangs are these ! 

The red blood drips and the feathers fly, 

Down drop the pinions wide ; 
The robber-chief, with a bitter cry, 

Falls headlong in the tide ! 

They bear him off with laugh and shout ; 

The wary birds return, — 
From the clove-brown feathers that float about 

The glorious news they learn. 

Then such a tumult fills the place 

As never was sung or said ; 
And all cry, wild with joy, " The base, 

Bad Burgomaster 's dead ! " 

And the old-wives sit with their caps so white. 

And their pretty beaks so red. 
And swing on the billows, and scream with delight, 

For the Burgomaster 's dead ! 



MILKING. 

Little dun cow to the apple tree tied, 

Chewing the cud of reflection, 
1 that am milking you, sit by your side, 

Lost in a sad retrospection. 

Far o'er the field the tall daisies blush warm. 

For rosy the sunset is dying ; 
Across the still valley, o'er meadow and farm. 

The flush of its beauty is lying. 

White foams the milk in the pail at my feet. 

Clearly the robins are calling ; 
Soft blows the evening wind after the heat. 

Cool the long shadows are falling. 

Little dun cow, 'tis so tranquil and sweet ! 

Are you light-hearted, I wonder ? 
What do yoif think about, — something to eat? 

On clover and grass do you ponder ? 



MILKING. 85 

I am remembering days that are dead, 
And a brown little maid in the gloaming, 

Milking her cow, with the west burning red 
Over waves that about her were foaming. 

Up from the sad east the deep shadows gloomed 

Out of the distance and found her ; 
Lightly she sang while the solemn sea boomed 

Like a great organ around her. 

Under the light-house no sweet-brier grew, 

Dry was the grass, and no daisies 
Waved in the wind, and the flowers were few 

That lifted their delicate faces. 

But O, she was happy, and careless, and blest. 

Full of the song-sparrow's spirit ; 
Grateful for life, for the least and the best 

Of the blessings that mortals inherit. 

Fairer than gardens of Paradise seemed 

The desolate spaces of water ; 
Nature was hers, — clouds that frowned — stars 
that gleamed, — 

What beautiful lessons they taught her ! 



S6 



MILKING. 



Would I could find you again, little maid, 

Striving with utmost endeavor, — 
Could find in my breast that light heart, unafraid, 

That has vanished for ever and ever ! 




